by Joan Grant
Before me I saw a vast swamp of quaking mud, which clogged the eyes and nostrils and the open mouths of the long-dead that it had drowned. From its dark surface there stretched the arms of skeletons, their clutching fingers transfixed in their despair; and fetid bubbles broke its dark expanse, the dying breath of those it had engulfed. Upon it there were tufts of withered reeds; and as I stepped upon them, they sank under me, sucked beneath the ooze. Yet did I will my footsteps to be light, and before each tuft sank down I reached the next. The swamp seemed to stretch before me out of sight, and for an endless time I laboured there. And then I felt firm ground beneath my feet and I knew that I had triumphed in the first ordeal.
Then before me in the mountain-side I saw a cave, and from it a passage-way led steeply down into a darkness piercing with bats that swept about me with their leathern wings. Lit by a faint phosphorescence, which came from bodies whose putrefying flesh fouled the scant air with heavy sickening stench, the shaft slanted more steeply down. It narrowed, until I had to crawl, and further, until I lay upon my face and could only drag my body through the cleft by digging my fingers into the rock. I went forward in a darkness closer than a tomb, and I thought that I should be entrapped to linger eternally in the crushing shroud of a mighty mountain cleaving to the earth. Here time stood still, yet seemed eternity. I found my way barred by solid rock, but with my will I drove my desperate hands to claw their way against it. And not until my fingers were stumps of splintered bone did it yield before me. Then I fought myself into the freedom of the outer air. And I had triumphed in the second ordeal.
Then before me I saw a plain of fire, and the air was dark with smoke of burning flesh. Through the blazing pillars of hungry flames I saw charred bodies still twisting in their pain; and as I thought of the pain that they endured, it seemed that my skin would crack beneath the heat and show my bones black in my blistered flesh. Yet I went into this tumult of devouring flames: and they parted before me, and they died low, as when a grass fire reaches the river. I walked forward upon a pathway of glowing ashes, yet their scarlet marked not my feet with blood. At last I felt a cool wind blowing upon me, and there was no longer the voice of fire about my ears. And I had triumphed in the third ordeal.
Then I stood upon the bank of a wide river, and I knew that I must cross it. But as I looked upon it I saw that the water churned with crocodiles. I nearly fled in terror from this place, for I remembered how once I had seen a crocodile snatch a man and crunch him like a twig between its jaws. They floated like logs along the river bank and watched me with their heavy-lidded eyes; and then the water was still, but for the ripples as they swam toward me like fish hungry for millet in a pool. Then did I keep them frozen with my will until they floated like a chain of rafts. And I crossed the river on their rigid backs, but only the ones before my eyes were stilled, and those behind me flailed their scaly tails in anger and lashed the water in their fierce pursuit. And as I felt the horror of their breath, I reached the safety of the other bank and knew I had triumphed in the fourth ordeal.
Then before me I saw a narrow road, avenued by archers. Between them lay the people they had slain, quivered with arrows; and others who crawled onwards in their agony, making the path scarlet with their blood. As I walked between this singing death, I knew that if a single arrow pierced my side, I should have failed and my earth-body die. My only armour was to show no fear, and I walked forward with unhurried steps, the wind of arrows hot against my cheek, buzzing like angry bees about me. Slowly I walked along this path of death, until at last I found that the air was quiet, and I stood alone upon a grassy plain. And I had triumphed in the fifth ordeal.
Then before me I saw a mighty cliff soaring above me stark against the clouds, grey as the caverns where the light shines not. And at its foot lay mutilated shapes of broken bodies fallen from the heights, their pulped flesh riven by the splintered bones. I knew that I must scale this precipice which stretched above me like a polished wall. Yet as I looked I saw that there were cracks in its smooth surface to which I could cling with desperate fingers. My body seemed heavier than stone as ever upwards I forced myself to climb. Sometimes the rock gave way beneath my hand and I was left hanging by a finger-joint. My muscles stretched into shrill cords of pain, yet slowly ever upwards I crept on, until the skin hung tattered on my arms and fleshless fingers held my draining strength. And when I felt that the draw of the abyss beneath me must enslave my will, with a last desperate effort I reached the summit of this barrier and flung myself full stretched upon the ground, rejoicing in this blessed anchorage. Then I saw that my body was unscarred; and I had triumphed in the sixth ordeal.
Then before me was the last ordeal, which to me was greater than all the others I had passed; for it encompassed the essence of all my fears. I saw before me a great pit, and islanded in a rustling sea of snakes a mighty cobra reared upon its coils. Vipers writhed and slithered across the floor, weaving an endless pattern of venomed death. Yet must I walk across their chaining coils and crush the cobra between my hands. Its eyes glittered scarlet, and its mighty hood shone with the brilliance of its armoured scales. It seemed that for an endless span of time I stood with horror naked in my eyes. Then I walked down into this hissing pit, and the vipers drew back before me in vicious waves. And I seized the cobra below its swaying head and held it from me as it tried to strike. Ten thousand times, again ten thousand times I thought that I had reached the final refuge of my desperate will. It seemed that time was endless and Earth grown cold, until under the last onslaught of my will the mighty serpent slid down upon its coils. And I was with its dead body in an empty pit.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Winged One
Then was the air alive with music, and I was no longer in this cold grey land. Bathed in a great shaft of yellow light I saw before me Ney-sey-ra, and in his voice there was melody of joy as he said, “Now you have joined the Winged Ones. Now you are free to come and go at will, to walk in the Caverns of the Underworld, to light them and be unshadowed by their fear. You have heard melody where music lives, and looked upon beauty in her house of light. And all these things you shall record on Earth, so that the hearts of your people shall rejoice, so that the hearts of the wicked shall know fear, so that they shall retrace their steps to find the path which leads them to the freedom of the stars.
“Unfurl your wings and glide gently back to Earth, like a white dove returning to its home, bearing the message of the Winged Ones.”
Then I returned to my body, which for four days and four nights had lain upon the sarcophagus of white limestone in the Place of Initiation. My lids were heavy upon my eyes, and my body was slow to obey my will, as if it were exhausted after a long fever. Then I saw that I was no longer in darkness, for Thoth-terra-das waited beside me to record my speech, and the light of a little oil lamp challenged the shadows. The memory of all that I had undergone crowded upon me like the waters of a river, and I prayed to Ptah that it should be as clear as drops of silver in measured words.
I told Toth-terra-das of beauty beyond the imaginings of Earth, of melodies that Earth ears cannot hear, of colour that dims the sunset’s brilliance, of quiet enfolding the still heart of peace. And I told him of fear that walks not on Earth’s path, of pain that is beyond our bodies’ span, of tears that mortal eyes can never weep.
When my tongue had told him my memories, I heard footsteps coming towards me down the shaft, and I saw Ney-sey-ra, robed in his earthly form. And when I saw the joy upon his face, I knew I had been his pupil worthily.
Before he would let me move he made me rest, and he gave me a draught of herbs and wine to drink; and a healer came and filled me with new life, so that my heavy weariness grew light.
Then did Ney-sey-ra lead me by the hand, as I had led others to the Place of Rest, and through the shaft I saw a golden wall that was the sunlight of the land of Kam. Awaiting me was a great multitude, dressed for a festival, with wreaths of flowers; and the stone causeway leading to the
lake was avenued with gilt triumphal masts, streaming their pennants of scarlet, of yellow, and of green.
Then, holding the steering-oar of the Boat of Time, I led a great fleet of boats across the lake, like a warrior returning from a victory. The water about us was starred with brilliant flowers, and the air was joyous with the voices of my people as they sang the triumph of a Winged One:
We rejoice,
For we walked upon a dark night
And now our sky is brilliant with stars.
We rejoice,
For we walked in a barren land of grey mist
And now Ra is ascendant in his glory.
We rejoice,
For we were beset by the spears of our enemies
And now they are vanquished and we walk in freedom.
We rejoice,
For our tongues were muffled in the soundless caverns
And now we are singing upon the clear heights.
We rejoice,
For we walked in the fear of famine
And now the bread is baking in our ovens
And our wine-jars are overflowing.
We rejoice,
For we walked on stones between the thorn-trees
And now a Bearer of Sandals has come to us
And led us to quiet pastures.
We rejoice,
For we were children crying in the shadows
And now we are cherished
And our dusk has been lighted by a flame.
We rejoice,
For we were in the darkness of the ground
And now we are as trees
And we listen to the message of the dove
That is nesting in our branches.
We rejoice,
For we were thirsty
And now we drink of the River of Life.
We rejoice,
For we were lonely
And now we are the little brothers of one who loves us.
We rejoice,
For we were afraid
And now we are strong in the shelter of a sword.
We rejoice,
For we were lost in a bewilderment of paths
And now we follow a Winged One to freedom.
PART FIVE
CHAPTER ONE
Marriage of Pharaoh
Only after my initiation did I realize that for long years I had thought of it as a great abyss across my path. Now I had passed over it on a causeway of my own building, and with the Golden Sandals upon my feet I could go upon my journey fearless of the mountains before me.
My marriage to Neyah was set for the fifteenth day after my initiation, and on the eve of it I returned to the palace. That night I talked long with Neyah, and our hearts rejoiced that together we should be Pharaoh. Though we loved each other, our marriage was but a symbol of our rulership as one Pharaoh. Sometimes I longed to be as other women, to whom a husband is nearer even than a brother and is the father of their children. And I asked Neyah whether he would not rather have had a queen who was a real wife and not his sister.
And he said, “There is no one with whom I would share rulership save you. For years I have longed for the day when you would join me on the throne and we could be together again as we were when we were children. To rule is lonely, Sekeeta. I have companions of the chase, warriors to lead, counsellors and viziers; yet to all of them, however near they are, I am Pharaoh. Only between you and me is there no barrier.”
Yet I wondered if there was not some woman that he loved with his body as well as with his heart. I asked him this, and he said, “Haven’t you been to the women’s quarters and seen my lesser wives? There are four of them; and I have two daughters and a son. But though I am fond of my wives, I would put none of them upon the throne. Pharaoh must rule with one who is his equal. And though Sesket—she is the mother of my son—is gentle and very beautiful, I would not rely upon her judgment even for the decoration of my sandals. But to you, my sister, I would leave the ruling of my country.”
I remembered that I had seen Sesket at the Festival of Horus. I had known that she lived in the palace, but I had not realized that she was Neyah’s wife. Suddenly I felt resentful that another woman’s child should rule after me, and I said, “Neyah, you have children by other women. What if I had a child by another man?”
Neyah frowned as he always used to do when he was pretending not to understand me. “You are the Royal Wife, so if you had a child it would be the first heir; for it would be judged to be mine as well, through the intervention of the Gods. But Sekeeta, if you are wise you will let no man put you to bed; for it is the nature of women to like their lovers to be masterful, and Pharaoh can acknowledge no master except the Gods. And you would find that when women are with child they get so bound up in their own bellies that their wisdom is muffled.”
When I would have protested, he went on, “Ten years have you trained yourself for rulership; it would be foolish to let your wisdom be obscured by doing those things that make up the lives of women whose horizon is an ointment jar, and who rule over nothing but their sleeping place—and even that they hope to lose by conquest. Sekeeta, it is better to hold the Flail than to put a napkin on a crying child; and to sit upon the throne beneath Tahuti’s Scales than to lie upon a bed beneath a man.”
“Those are easy words. You are Pharaoh and may have a hundred women, yet you grudge me one man.…”
“Not a hundred women! I have only four; and two of them are only wives in name: one is eleven and the other is nine. They are daughters of two of my viziers, and I never see them except to give them toys and to know that they are happy in my house.”
“Perhaps I shall listen to your wisdom, Neyah, or it may be that I shall be guided by the same laws that you keep. For though I am your wife by ceremony, you have other earthly realities. Perhaps I shall not only share your throne: I may share your privileges as well.”
“You should use the memory that for so long you have trained, and try to find some record of your own to show you the foolishness of that idea better than my arguments have done.”
And then he said he must go, for I must sleep long that night, as the morrow’s ceremonies were tiring.
Before he went he put his hands upon my shoulders and seemed about to say something. But he left me without speaking, and I did not see him again before the ceremony.
On the morning of the day that I became Pharaoh, I prayed long to the Gods that in my hands the Crook and the Flail should be true symbols of their wisdom, of their justice, and of their compassion; and that when I gave the Oath of Pharaoh I should find true words to convey my thoughts, and that my speech should be clear and unfaltering.
Away from Earth I had talked with my father, and I knew that he was glad that his wish to see me rule with Neyah would have come to pass before I slept again.
My wedding-dress was of fine linen, pleated across the breasts and shoulders and reaching my feet. It was embroidered with bees, reeds, and lotuses; and round the hem were seven rows of gold threads, which make it stand out like the bell of a flower. I wore the five-rayed pectoral, each bead of which was shaped like a leaf, the symbol of one earth life. The first row was of faience, symbolizing the khat, the second of copper, for the ba, the third of silver, the nam; the fourth of electrum, the za; and the fifth of thrice refined gold, the maat. Each link of my gold bracelets was in the form of a double-headed lion, symbolizing all-seeing earthly power. I wore the fillet of the Golden Cobra, which could only be worn by one who had overthrown the cobra of the seventh ordeal, and in so doing had added its strength to their will.
In the royal litter of twenty-four bearers I headed the marriage procession to the temple. Children strewed my way with flowers. Zeb, with Natee and Simma at his side, followed me carrying my standard. Then came three captains of the Royal Bodyguard, each with his hundred men: bowmen, macebearers, and spearmen. Behind them were two hundred musicians, some who sang and some who played upon flute, harp, or reed. Then, in litters of four bearers, came the wom
en of the Royal Household and the wives of nobles according to their rank. Girls followed leading white oxen garlanded with the scarlet lilies that I had dedicated to Ptah in memory of the day when I first met Ney-sey-ra. And lastly came the bearers of gifts from the Two Lands: tusks of ivory and collars of gold; jars of unguents and alabaster flasks of precious oils; necklaces of lapis lazuli, of carved cornelian, and of wine-stone; silver and malachite and leopard-skins.
Round the forecourt of the Temple of Atet were ranged the captains of the armies, their burnished shields, blazing like the suns, making a wall of light.
A statue of Ptah, of gilded cedarwood, had been set at the foot of the pillared terrace; and before the gateway to the inner courtyard was the great double throne of red granite, upon which was the seated statue of Za Atet. A great company of priests, wearing their ceremonial robes of office, was assembled on the steps of the terrace: the Seers with the scarlet double feather of Maat; the Priests of Horus with the folded wings of the hawk framing their faces; the Priests of Ptah with the gold key of life: the Lookers with their winged moon-disc; the Priests of Anubis with their yellow cloaks clasped by two gold jackal heads. Their white robes, brilliant in the sunlight, were bordered with lines of violet, one for each life of temple training that they had undergone.
Neyah, holding the Flail and wearing the Red Crown, waited for me before the statue, and beside him was my mother, who wore the White Crown and held the Crook.
First Neyah and I made ceremonial offering to Ptah. Then, followed by the priests, my mother led us across the inner courtyard by the Hall of Sanctuaries. Neyah and I went alone to the Sanctuary of Ptah, for all when they are united before the Gods are alone except for the priest, who is their symbol.
The high-priest stood above and behind the statue so that it should seem that it was Ptah who spoke to us.
First he called us by our true names, and then he said:
“You who at your birth were called Neyah, and who as Pharaoh are the second to bear the name Za Atet; and you who at your birth were called Sekhet-a-ra, and who as Pharaoh shall bear the name Zat Atet, Wife and Daughter of Za Atet; henceforward you shall show, to all people, that on Earth you travel upon the same path, even as your spirits have travelled together through the spheres.
